


oh, you touch my tralala

by brawlite



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Come as Lube, M/M, Rimming, Sloppy Seconds, Spit As Lube, Topping from the Bottom, Wade Has Issues, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wet & Messy, and also with peter because obviously, and doesn't realize wade's feelings, andrew garfield is my spiderman but feel free to imagine him however your heart desires, angst and pining because i can't write anything without those, bad references to swedish pop, peter is sleepy, peter knows what he wants and isn't afraid to ask for it, wade thinks he doesn't deserve nice things, wade wilson's boxes, wade's in love with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: Wade wakes Peter up in the middle of the night. He hadn't exactly beenplanningon the late-night encounter turning sexy-as-hell, but that's totally fine by him. Wade will take anything he can get when it comes to Peter Parker.They're not fuckbuddies, except they sort-of-are.





	oh, you touch my tralala

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't listened to the 2004 masterpiece that is günther's [ding dong song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z13qnzUQwuI), i'm sorry but you really need to. it's not fundamental to your understanding of this fic, but it will increase your enjoyment of it about 100-fold.

Four in the morning wasn’t necessarily a strange time for Wade to be finding himself slipping through Spidey’s window, but it did go a long way for keeping up the general hashtag aesthetic of _creep_ that Deadpool had long since been cultivating. Or maybe he wasn’t truly cultivating it at all -- maybe he was just a creeper, plain and simple, just like Peter always told him.

Either way: window, Deadpool, desk, floor -- _thunk_. In that order.

Peter liked to stack things precariously on his desk in front of the window that Wade usually used to sneak in. Maybe he thought it was a deterrent, but it mostly made the whole thing a fun challenge. Or, judging by the sleepy and annoyed (adorable) _Oh my god, Wade_ , he heard groaned from the next room, maybe it was more like an alarm system than anything else.

“Morning, baby boy,” he sang to the half-closed door to Peter’s room, while shedding some of his weapons on a chair stacked high with laundry, making himself more comfortable.

_[It’s the middle of the night.]_

_**[[But it’s technically morning. Time to rise and shine!]]** _

“It’s not morning yet, Wade,” Peter grumbled, barely loudly enough for Wade to hear. Gosh, he sounded cute when he just woke up, voice all hoarse from sleep and disuse. “Give me like -- five hours.”

Once he was mostly de-weaponed (something that Peter had previously asked him to do), Wade pushed the bedroom door open with his toe and leaned against the door frame, content to watch the way the kid spread out in the bed, all long limbs and lithe muscle. For a lengthy moment, Wade just stood and watched, taking in the pretty picture of Petey, sleepy in boxer briefs and only partially covered by a sheet, dulled of inhibitions and desperately trying to fold himself back into dreamland.

_[Like a goddamn Renaissance painting.]_

_**[[Paint him like one of your French girls!]]** _

“Oh, I’ll paint him alright,” Wade said. “I’ve got the perfect thing to paint him with, too: au naturale and biodegradable!”

“Ugh, Wade,” Peter groaned, shoving his head under one of those comfy looking pillows. “Shut _up_.”

“You could _make_ me shut up,” Wade suggested, pushing himself off the door frame to jump onto the end of Spidey’s bed. The mattress bounced with the force of his landing. Wade watched the way it jiggled the kid’s ass. Hot _damn_ that was one hell of a booty. No need to do squats when you’re spending your time repelling up buildings, amiright?

Now, this was a sticky situation (pun totally intended) -- and Deadpool knew that he had to play it carefully. This little thing they had going on between them --

 _[Fuckbuddies, you’re fuckbuddies, baby._ Finally _.]_

 _ **[[Nothing more, though. Yeesh, has baby boy made**_ that _one clear. Bawling-my-eyes-out-emoji.]]_

\-- was a fragile thing. They had only hooked up a few times, and of those times, Peter was always running high on adrenaline after a fight or a skirmish or whatever. He’d _finally_ given into Deadpool’s advances, offers, pleas, etcetera. But that didn’t mean that what they had was steady, or official, or even ongoing. For all Wade knew (and also extrapolated), one wrong move could throw the whole thing off and have Peter backwards nope-ing his way out of this whole arrangement.

And Wade certainly didn’t want that.

Now that he’d had a taste of heaven, he just couldn’t get enough.

“Wade, can you just go to sleep now?” Peter said, voice still muffled through the pillow. Wade wasn’t _super_ paying attention, though -- he was paying more attention to the gentle curve of Peter’s back, the way the sheet draped over him like a Greek god. His fingers wriggled with the desire to _touch_. “I’ll even let you sleep in my bed, instead of on the couch.”

“That’s awfully generous of you, baby boy. What are you getting out of this lovely arrangement, though?”

“Hopefully, some silence and a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

Clearly, Peter had never watched Wade sleep in a bed before, star-fished out over all the real estate. But that was okay; Wade could politely only take up _some_ of the space if absolutely necessary. If his baby boy so wanted.

Wade finally gave into temptation and ran his gloved fingers down the perfect curve of Peter’s back, over the swell of his ass before he grabbed and squeezed a meaty chunk of it. “You don’t want to broker more for this deal? I’m ready to put a hell of a lot more on the table,” Deadpool said, fingers kneading that pert hunk of muscle. He was ready, at a moment’s notice, for Peter to sleepily bat him away -- but the argument or the slap never came.

Peter made a noise when Wade shifted and started using both hands to massage that booty. “You’re not very good at trade negotiations, babe,” Deadpool told him. He let his fingers work some magic, moving from ass to lower back and then back to ass again.

Peter wormed his head out from under the pillow, looking back at Wade with the cutest, most perfect, bedroom eyes. Sleepy, but with a hint of lust. Kill me now. “I seem to be doing just fine from where I’m sitting.”

_**[[Touche.]]** _

[Give that kid a goddamn medal.]

“Hot _damn_ you’re perfect,” Wade said, because it was the truth.

Peter just shrugged. “It happens.” When the kid was caught in a less totally-aware state (or with the Spidey-suit on), he had a hell of a lot more confidence than his usual un-masked self. Deadpool loved both versions of the kid, really, he did, but there was something rewarding about seeing Peter admit to just how perfect he was.

“You’re not kicking me out?” Wade asked, leaning down nose along Peter’s spine. He flipped up his mask a bit, just so he could kiss along that sleep-warm skin.

“I will kick you out if you keep talking at me,” Peter warned.

“Puh-leese, Petey. My talking turns you on.”

“Does it actually?”

“I’m very sensual. I know all the best dirty-talk. If this were a fanfic, I’d be rated ‘E’ for Explicit.”

“Please don’t,” Peter begged.

“ _Ooh, you touch my tralala_ ,” Deadpool began to sing.

“Can you not?”

“ _Mmm, my ding ding dong,_ ” he continued.

“I will definitely kick you out if you keep singing Swedish pop from the early aughts.”

Deadpool practically purred. “You know me so well. It’s a match made in heaven, babe.”

And with that, Wade resituated himself, grabbed ahold of Peter’s ankles, and pulled the kid down the bed toward him. Peter ended up stomach down with his legs on either side of Deadpool’s kneeling form. So much closer, so much easier to reach. “ _Hello_ ~” Deadpool said, running his hands over Peter’s bare back. God, he was so muscular, yet so lean. He liked that the kid wasn’t stacked like Captain America or Thor (no shade, Wade thinks, he’d totally do them, too), but this was his favorite version of eye-candy right here. He traced his gloved fingertips over the lines of Peter’s muscles, over his ribs, finding all the sensitive places that made the kid squirm.

“Take off your gloves,” Peter said.

“Your wish is my command.” Wade wasn’t a _huge_ fan of disrobing during their little rendezvous, but he was willing to concede some items of clothing to Peter’s desires. So, the gloves came off and landed somewhere on the floor. The mask, flipped up to uncover his lips, however, stayed on. Sure, Wade had no real problem getting all kinds of naked with randos from bars, but he didn’t want to subject Peter to the nightmarish hellscape that was his face post-orgasm. Wade wanted this to be a thing that continued into the future -- so he kept the mask (and most of his other clothes) on.

Wade looped his fingers under the waistband of Peter’s boxer briefs and played with the elastic for a moment. “Hope these weren’t your favorite pair, kid.”

“Wade --!” Peter warned, but it was too late, Wade was already listening to the telltale _riiip_ of the fabric tearing underneath his hands. He watched as the fabric pulled apart to expose the pale expanse of Peter’s flesh to the low light of the room. “So. Hot,” Wade whispered.

“You’re buying me new boxers.”

“I will buy you literally whatever you want,” Deadpool said, totally serious. He’d buy Peter a hundred new pairs of boxer briefs, just so he could tear him out of each one in turn. He’d buy him expensive lingerie, too, if he thought Peter would let him. Hell -- Wade might just do it anyway.

_[I smell a trip to Victoria’s Secret in our future.]_

_**[[Shut up -- we’ve got a full-course meal here to enjoy. Don’t distract him. We can catalogue-browse later.]]** _

“So true,” Wade said: he’d think about all the little numbers he could convince Peter into later. Right now, he had a sleepy superhero to enjoy.

With Peter’s flesh totally unobstructed by boxers and sheets, Wade let himself indulge. He let his fingers roam and his mouth explore. He pressed kisses to Peter’s spine and migrated up to his neck, just to bite and nibble hard enough to get the kid to squirm and groan. There was something so exhilarating about having Peter writing underneath him, totally at Wade’s power.

“Wade,” Peter whimpered, when Wade got both hands on his ass, thumbs dipping into the crack as he pulled apart those pert cheeks.

“Whatchoo want, baby boy?”

“More,” Peter said. “You woke me up for this.”

Well, not for this _specifically_. But, after seeing Peter stretched out in his bed like a delectable painting? Yep, that’s all that Wade wanted. So, he says: “that I did.”

He moves so that he could kiss the dip of Peter’s back, breath hot over his vertebrae. Peter lets out a long breath. Wade loves him needy and breathless. “Who knew you were such a brat,” he says, and then bites the flesh of Peter’s ass. Peter groans.

Deadpool wastes no time in the next step. He kisses down to Peter’s crack, spreads those perfect cheeks with his hands, and then licks down the seam of him to Peter’s hole. Long and slow. The action pulls a low moan from the kid, which really is the best form of payment, Wade thinks.

“Yeah?” Wade asks, tonguing over that tight ring of muscle to nip at Peter’s cheek again. “You want more, baby boy?”

“God, yes, Wade,” Peter says. “Stop being an asshole.”

“I’m licking an asshole. Licking and being are two very different things. Also, I’m licking _your_ asshole, so you don’t really get to complain.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Peter tells him, so Wade does.

Peter tastes like soap and like sleep and like musk. Wade tongues over him again, getting him nice and sloppy wet before he pushes his tongue inside. He listens to the symphony of Peter’s pleased noises as he works, feeling the slick slide of his tongue as he pushes it in and out of the boy beneath him. The muscle of his ass is tight, which is all the more fun for Wade to work at to loosen up.

He doesn’t know if Peter does this with anyone else, if Peter has other fuckbuddies, or even if he has a significant other and open feelings about the whole thing. He doesn’t even know if the kid has _done_ any of this before him -- but thinking about _that_ possibility is a little too much, so Wade never lets that train of thought progress past the station.

What he _does_ know is that none of that is his business. Peter’s never brought any of it up, never shared more than an ounce of personal information besides his name, his face, his phone number, and his apartment complex. Even those were given up in duress -- which is a story for another day -- so Wade can’t even count them as a win. The only thing Peter has ever given him, kindly and without strings, is this. The pale expanse of his skin, the breathy sounds of his moans, the cherished way he comes completely apart at Wade’s hands. It’s a gift, one Wade accepts at face value. He doesn’t ask for more because he knows exactly what the answer would be, and a man can only handle so much rejection.

But hey -- now’s not the time to be all maudlin about his romantic prospects. Now’s the time to get _busy_.

So, busy he gets.

 **Example A:** Wade Wilson can eat motherfuckin’ ass like a champion.

That becomes readily apparent when Peter practically melts underneath him into a squirming puddle of desire and delicious breathy noises. His noises are good enough to eat up -- so Wade does, greedily. Messily.

With the worst goddamn table manners ever. But damn, does Peter seem to enjoy it.

 **Example B:** Wade Wilson is the fucking bomb at escalating situations.

This doesn’t help much in hostage negotiations, but it _does_ help in the sexual sphere of his life. He’s no quitter and he’s very fond of pushing things to their limits.

Eventually, he uses the slick of his saliva to slowly press a finger into Peter. Wade works him open with patience, all the while tonguing at him like dat ass is the best thing he’s ever tasted -- and let’s be real, it totally is.

_**[[It’d taste better after we went a round or two.]]** _

“Fuck yeah,” Wade says and bites a meaty chunk of Peter’s ass, a little harder than before. Now that Wade’s gotten Petey all worked up, he knows that incorporating a little pain can be good. Peter groans and pushes his hips against the bed, rocking his dick against the sheets. Wade pulls back and watches for a moment, entranced by the grinding motion of Peter’s hips. It’s hot as _fuck_ , knowing he’s all riled up just because Wade got him there.

The kid’s perfectly muscular and there’s something so dreamy about watching the play of his muscles in the dim light of the bedroom. Illuminated only by yellow and blue light-pollution, Peter is the most beautiful thing Wade has ever seen. He’s also the hottest.

So Wade just leans back and watches for awhile, working Peter open with a finger while the kid grinds himself down against the bed.

Oh, and,

 **Example C:** Wade’s got the patience of a saint when it comes to sex. Well, sometimes, anyway. But _sometimes_ he has limitless patience, typically when it comes to delayed gratification bringing about better satisfaction. Edging for the win, baby!

So, when Peter begs him for two fingers, Deadpool just laughs. “Not yet, baby boy.” Peter whines, so Wade just tells him: “You’ll thank me for it, later.”

He doesn’t necessarily stop Peter from grinding his hips against the bed, but he does occasionally stop him with his free hand on the curve of Peter’s back. “Don’t get yourself too close,” Wade warns.

He works Peter with one finger until Peter is loose and truly crying for more. Wade slides the finger out and dips low to replace it with his tongue, lapping like a dog.

_**[[Mm. Tastes like teen spirit.]]** _

[Pretty sure he’s legally allowed to drink.]

_**[[Semantics. When you’ve got doe eyes like that, I don’t care what your ID says.]]** _

The boxes have it right. Baby boy _does_ have the most beautiful doe eye -- it’s a pity Wade can’t look at them with the kid all face down on the bed like this. So, he takes one last lengthy slurp and comes up for air, flipping Peter (as delicious as he is) over, belly up on the bed. _Ooh, now_ _that’s the stuff_ , Wade thinks, as he drinks in the whole picture of Peter Parker. If the light was better, he’d doubtless be red-faced and blotchy, but as it is, he still looks a hot mess. His cock is hard and leaking and his breathing is ragged and short. His hair is beautifully messed and his lips are red, likely from biting them as an attempt (a poor one) at keeping those noises inside. Peter is goddamn gorgeous. Wade Wilson is one lucky man.

So fucken’ lucky.

“ _She’s so lucky,_ ” Wade sings, running a palm down Peter’s sweaty thigh, “ _she’s a star_.” Wade leans over Peter and catches him in a kiss, deep and hungry. Peter kisses back, just as needy.

“Wade, please,” he says, breaking away from the kiss after a minute of rutting up against Wade’s thigh. It’s hot, in a depraved sort of way, thinking that Peter’s trying to get himself off in any way possible just because Wade is depriving him.

But Wade isn’t _that_ cruel, so he relents (he’s also not _that_ composed -- he has needs too, you know!). Suddenly, he has a bottle of lube in his hand. Where did this even _come_ from? “Thanks, convenient plot-hole,” he whispers, and coats his fingers in the sticky stuff. Without preamble, he moves to slide first one finger into Peter’s loosened hole, then, almost immediately, two.

Peter groans.

Music to Wade’s ears.

He enjoys the wet slide of his fingers into that tight ring of muscle. Slowly, he begins working Peter open, stretching him until he is loose and pliant enough for Wade to think about sliding another finger in. He takes his time with it, but also makes sure to give the occasional stroke to Peter’s poor, neglected cock. He doesn’t want the kid to start complaining again, does he? (Lies: he totally does. Peter is hot as shit when he whines like a brat.)

So, maybe Wade slows down a bit. Maybe he pulls his fingers out entirely and dips his head down to lap at Peter’s cock, nice and slow, like a goddamn lollipop.

Peter whines and begs and fists his fingers in the fabric of Wade’s mask. Not pulling it off -- he knows better -- but grappling for purchase anyway. Wade knows Peter is feeling empty and needy, so maybe he has a little compassion. Only after Peter practically sobs for it, though.

Soon, Wade is working three fingers into Peter while he’s working Peter’s cock down his own throat.

He nearly comes in his own pants from that, honestly. Hey -- don’t judge. It happens to the best of us.

The feeling of Peter’s cock stretching his throat wide, making him gag? Hot damn does it get his motor running, his pot boiling, his warehouse burning. Spit drips hungrily from his lips by the time he figures he’s through, by the time Peter is loose around his fingers.

Wade pulls back a bit to watch, curls his fingers just so, and pulls a haggard moan out of Peter’s mouth when his fingers press against his prostate. “Ooh, that’s the fun button,” Wade says when Peter spasms and bucks his hips off the bed.

“Wade, Wade, Wade,” the kid chants, as Deadpool milks him with expert fingers. It’s hot as fuck, watching his cock drip with every press. “Wade, _please_ ,” Peter begs him, sounding both annoyed and so inordinately spoiled.

Deadpool doesn’t give in easy. See: **Example C** , patience of a saint. He thinks he’s exemplifying that pretty well right now, given that his own dick is _aching_. Hell, it might’ve actually fallen off and grown back at this point, he doesn’t know. But right now he cares about Peter, about Peter’s pleasure (and a little about his own selfish desire to consistently give Peter the best sex he’s ever had). So, he milks Peter’s goddamn prostate until there are literal tears in the corners of the kid’s eyes, and only then does he give in.

He extricates his fingers, slow and steady. He knows the feeling of being too empty too fast, and he doesn’t want to lose Peter now, doesn’t want to jolt any anxiety into him. No, he wants this to be good, _so good_. So, the second Wade pulls out his last finger, his dick is all ready to go, pushing slowly inside. He’s slick and wet with too much lube and Peter’s warm muscle is tight around the head of his cock, even with all the stretching Wade gave him.

It feels like heaven. Maybe Wade has finally died and this is it -- this is the afterlife he has been given. That’s not right, though. Wade doesn’t deserve an afterlife that feels this good. He doesn’t deserve this _moment_ , really. But even when he pinches himself, it’s still happening. Thank fuck.

“God, baby boy. You feel so good,” Wade tells him, slowly inching his dick further into Peter’s warmth.

Peter groans and bucks his hips. “More,” he begs.

“Patience,” Wade says, stilling his hips for a second just to enjoy the heat, the wetness, the pressure. _Fuck_.

“I’m going to kill you, Wade Wilson.” Peter says, but Wade knows he’s not. Sure, Peter might hate him most of the time, might think he’s mildly annoying at the best of times, but Spider-Man has a strict no-unaliving policy. So, Wade is in the clear.

But Wade relents, because truly he’s a huge sucker for Peter’s whining. He hauls Peter’s legs up and holds the kid at the perfect angle and slides the rest of the way home in one fell swoop.

“ _Mm, my ding ding dong,_ ” Wade sings as his eyes fall closed, feeling himself fully sheathed in Peter’s warmth. It’s the best feeling in the world.

He doesn’t expect the quick punch to the side of the head.

_[Yikes.]_

_**[[Totally deserved that one.]]** _

[Save the Swedish pop for the post-coital cuddling.]

“Ten-four,” Deadpool says, not even waiting for an explanation from Peter -- he doesn’t need one. “But, just for the record, I think that early-aughts pop from nordic countries is totally an aphrodisiac.”

“It’s not,” Peter says, and shifts his hips with a small pant. His cock is leaking onto his stomach. Wade thumbs away a drip of it and brings his hand up to his mouth to lick off.

“Mm. Totally is. Look at you. All hot and bothered because of Günther’s dulcet tones.”

“I think I’m _hot and bothered_ because your dick is in me and you’re not doing anything with it.”

“Touché,” Wade says, and starts fucking Peter in earnest.

“Thank _god,_ ” Peter moans as Wade plows into him.

He is properly stretched and slick with probably too much lube, so it’s tremendously easy to slide straight into a particularly brutal rhythm. Despite all Wade’s patience for torturing the kid a bit with edging, Wade wants to get down to the good stuff. Wants to slide home into that wet heat and get all up ins. He wants to fuck Peter until he’s screaming, until he’s crying -- until they’re _both_ screaming and crying. Wait -- Peter might not like that last bit too much. He doesn’t seem like he wants to deal with too many of Wade’s emotions, and that’s fine. That’s cool. Wade will stick to screaming, or singing, or just panting out Peter’s name in between thrusts. He’ll save his emotions for special alone time. Right now is love-making time.

“Fuck, baby boy. You are so good.” He buries himself deep and wraps his fingers around Peter’s cock, jerking him in quick bursts, “Just -- so good.”

Wade’s found that Peter has a thing for praise -- which is great, because who doesn’t? Everyone likes to be told that they’re good. Peter doesn’t tell Wade that _he’s_ good, explicitly, but his breathy little moans do. So does the reddening in his cheeks. And the way he moans, all pretty-like.

Wade can’t help but lean down and catch Peter in a kiss. It’s not the world’s most graceful one, with him pressing Peter into the mattress and his mask flipped up halfways over his face, but it’s still hot. Still messy. Still good. Peter doesn’t care about the lack of coordination of it. He doesn’t seem to care about anything at this point, other than his own pleasure, which is gratifying. It means Wade’s doing a damn good job.

“ _I always do a good job_ ,” Wade whispers, breaking the kiss to mouth over Peter’s jaw and down to his neck. Then, he bites the kid’s ear. Peter groans.

“Harder, harder,” Peter begs.

Because Wade is nice, and because he’s also out for himself to some extent, he gives Peter what he wants. Because it’s also what Wade wants. He goes harder, faster, deeper. After a while, he’s truly panting for it, kissing Peter whenever he gets a chance. That’s messy, too, a spit-filled endeavor that leaves both of their lips bruised and red.

He stops jerking Peter off when Peter says he’s close. Yeha, Wade’s getting there, too. Instead, Wade hooks his fingers around the base of Peter’s cock and squeezes. Preventing him from getting any closer. “Don’t you dare, baby boy. Not yet,” Wade tells him. “Not yet. That okay?”

Peter is a good listener. He whines, but nods frantically. He’s so good. He’s so _willing_ when he’s like this. Which is so special, because Wade would do anything for him, too.

“I wanna come in you, Petey. I wanna come in you so hard, and then I wanna keep fucking you until you come on my dick with my spunk dripping out of you.” Wade says, continuing to slam into Peter at a brutal pace. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby boy.”

Wade’s close. He can feel the pressure cresting inside him, ready to tumble over and take him out. That’s good, because he’s not sure how much longer he can make Peter last. He wants the kid to have a fun time, a time he’ll look back on and think, ‘ _holy shit, that was the bomb.’_

It doesn’t take long for Wade to get himself there. All he has to do is look down at Peter underneath him, moaning and flushed with arousal, cock dripping earnestly now, for the sight to push him over the edge. Pleasure hits him like a freight train as he pushes deep inside Peter’s warmth, spilling into him as Wade shudders above him.

For a moment, everything whites out. Wade leans down, closes his eyes, and just catches Peter in a deep, messy kiss.

“Give me a sec,” Wade says after a bit, breaking off to pant. Thanks to whatever the hell was done to his body, his refractory period is...pretty stellar, actually. But he _does_ need a hot second to cool down and work himself back up again. His dick is still infinitely sensitive inside Peter’s hot heat, even though he’s still mostly hard.

“You’ve got like fifteen seconds,” Peter hisses, “before I flip you over and use you like a dildo, Wade.”

“Thatta boy,” Wade says. God, he loves it when Peter gives him a little spirit, a little sass.

“I’m not kidding,” Peter says, and bites at Wade’s jaw impatiently. How he can stand to touch Wade’s skin with his teeth or his tongue, Wade will never know -- but that’s not a question for now. “I’m so hard it hurts, Wade.”

Wade had _plans_. Good plans. _Great_ plans. He truly did. He wanted to pound Peter into the bed with his own spunk as the filthiest lube and watch as Peter fell apart underneath him while Wade came in him again. But -- sometimes plans change. And sometimes _better_ plans are set out in front of him, plans he hadn’t even considered.

“Well then, Petey,” Wade says, spreading his arms out to the sides. “I’m all yours.”

For a moment, Peter hesitates, just looking at Wade like ‘ _wait, really?’_ Because Wade is normally the one who calls the shots in their little rendezvous. But Wade knows that doesn’t have to be the case -- he doesn’t even necessarily _want_ it to be the case. It’s just...what’s happened so far.

Wade can’t lie that the thought of Peter flipping him over and having his way with Wade? Yeah, that’s got him all hot and bothered again. Ready to rumble.

So, Peter hesitates -- but that only lasts for so long. After a moment, he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. “Alright,” Peter finally says, moving fast to shove Wade down against the bed so hard that he bounces off the mattress. Hot damn, the power behind Peter’s muscles. He’s quick and strong and Wade wants to _swoon_. Peter wastes no time and slides himself back onto Wade’s jizz-dripping cock with a moan. A surround-sound moan, really, because Wade’s moaning too. Holy _fuck_ , why hadn’t this been part of the plan to begin with?

The mattress is kind of shit, really. It’s squeaky and hard, but that doesn’t matter when Peter’s bouncing on Wade’s cock like the fate of the world depends on it.

It’s hard to focus on anything when Peter is naked above him, riding Wade like a goddamn jockey. His muscles are taut and tight and flexing underneath his skin in the dim light of the room. Here, in the middle of the night, Peter looks like every single one of Wade’s dreams come true. He kinda is. Peter deserves to know, so Wade tells him: “I think I might be dreaming.”

Peter moans and sinks all the way down on Wade’s cock, bottoming out. He’s _so tight_ around Wade that Wade thinks he might die. “You’re not,” Peter promises.

“Yeah?” Wade asks, and slides his hands over Peter’s thighs. He’s hot to the touch and sweaty from all his efforts, but he’s the best goddamn thing Wade has ever had under his fingers.

“Fuck,” Peter says, grinding down on Wade’s dick before beginning to fuck himself again. “I promise. Fuck, I promise, Wade. Or we’re -- mm -- having the same awesome goddamn shared dream.”

_[Hey, at least he’s not mad about being woken up in the middle of the night anymore.]_

_**[[Ooh -- gotta keep that in mind for next time.]]** _

“Fuck, yes,” Wade agrees and bucks his hips upward, driving deep into Peter on his next downward thrust. Peter groans. Wade can feel his own come dripping down onto his dick, onto his balls, onto the sheets below him. He wants to add more to the mix, and then he wants to lick Peter clean. Pleasure spikes in him at the thought, threatening to come much faster than he originally thought it might. “Petey,” he warns.

“Yeah,” Peter pants, “yeah, I’m -- so close.”

Oh, but Wade can help him get closer. As much as he wants to see Peter come just thanks to Wade’s dick alone, the desire to get his hand on Peter’s beautiful cock again is one too overwhelming to pass up. So, Wade spits on his hand and wraps a fist around Peter’s cock. Peter groans, his rhythm picking up to a brutal pace.

Peter doesn’t last long. After only a few tugs of Wade’s fist, he’s shuddering and coming apart on Wade’s cock. When he comes, his spunk hits Wade in the chest, then in the face. _So hot._ Peter’s face, while he’s shattering apart, is the most gorgeous thing Wade has ever set eyes on. It’s only a pity he’s looking through his mask.

He doesn’t have too much time to angst about that, though, because Peter’s pace never slows, nor does it falter. “C’mon, Wade,” Peter groans out, sounding so broken, so hoarse.

Wade’s not too far off, not after that little show that Peter put on. He likes this Peter, the one who doesn’t have a problem manhandling him or telling him what to do, the Peter that isn’t afraid to take what he wants. It gets even better when Peter leans down, grabs Wade by the chin, and kisses him so hard he can barely breathe.

“Come, Wade,” Peter says between kisses, and Wade’s body is stumbling to obey him before Wade’s brain can even catch up.

The pleasure hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s so much more savage this time, not at all like a cresting wave that he could see out in the distance before he caught a ride. No -- he knew this was coming, but not at all that fast, and certainly not at all that hard. When his orgasm rips through him, Wade chokes down a scream and empties his load into Peter’s tight ass.

When he comes down from it, Peter is sprawled on his chest, breathing heavily against his neck. Wade’s dick is still in Peter’s ass and he can feel the come dripping out around him. _Hot_ , he thinks. But god, he’s so tired.

Peter eases forward and Wade’s dick slips out, finally softening. Wade hisses with over-sensitivity while Peter groans. “Hurts?” Wade asks, concern creeping through his fatigue.

“Nah,” Peter says. “Just really gross.”

Wade can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah it is.” Also, so unbelievably hot. “Want me to clean it up with my tongue?”

Peter makes an affronted face.

“Is that a…yes?” Deadpool asks.

“That’s a no.” Peter blushes -- it’s evident even in the dim light. He continues, “this time. I’m tired.”

Wade does a mental fistpump. “Ooh, you totally think it’s hot. You think it’s so gross, but hot. That’s the best kind of hot, baby boy -- the gross kind.”

Peter sighs and stretches out, rolling off of Wade’s body. Immediately, Wade misses his warmth. It’s fine, though, because Peter soon settles his head back down on Wade’s chest. All soft and cozy. “Shh, go to sleep, Wade.”

For a hot second, Deadpool can pretend, riding the calming ripples of his orgasms, that this is just the way things are. That Peter Parker wants to fall asleep next to, wants to sleep next to, Wade motherfuckin’ Wilson. That this soft intimacy is something that Wade deserves. That, in some strange universe, Wade is capable of having something so tender.

But reality always catches up to him -- that’s _not_ the universe in which he lives. Peter Parker deserves better than him. And...Deadpool most certainly deserves worse than Peter Parker.

Peter sighs and his breathing slips into the steady rhythm of sleep. He is warm and solid against Wade’s side, his hand curled lightly around the curve of Deadpool’s ribs.

Sure, Wade will slip out before Peter wakes up. But maybe he can stay here and doze a while.

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write a spideypool fic with this title. that's really my only excuse. 
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com), if you are so inclined.


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